


Guilt Takes a Lunch Break at Two in the Morning

by letmetellyouaboutmyfeels



Category: 9-1-1 (TV)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Pre-Relationship, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-25
Updated: 2020-04-25
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:28:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,876
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23834638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels/pseuds/letmetellyouaboutmyfeels
Summary: Eddie's married, and he's never going to cheat. Even if his wife hasn't been around.Buck knows Eddie's married, and he's probably not into men, and he won't ruin the best friendship he's ever had.Doesn't mean either of them can't imagine other things.
Relationships: Evan "Buck" Buckley/Eddie Diaz (9-1-1 TV)
Comments: 36
Kudos: 363





	Guilt Takes a Lunch Break at Two in the Morning

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on tumblr here: https://letmetellyouaboutmyfeels.tumblr.com/post/616347101721509888/oh-queen-of-the-smut-peddlers-i-will-be-good-and

There’s that old thing, about the priest, who says “give me a child for the first seven years of his life, and he’ll be mine forever.”

Which, given some of the practices of Catholic priests, is a hell of a lot more creepy than it’s supposed to be, but.

The point of it is, whatever you’re taught as a young child, that stays with you, no matter where else you go in life. And Eddie was taught: what you vow to your spouse, you hold to. No matter what. _Until death do us part._ No matter what Shannon’s done, and no matter what other bullshit he’s pulled in his time, he’s never going to cheat on her. He wouldn’t disrespect those vows. He’s done enough disrespecting of them.

But even though he can control his actions, he can’t control his thoughts, and sometimes...

Look, he hasn’t had sex in three years, okay? And he hasn’t even touched a _man_ in that way since he was sixteen, a terrified Texan kid in the locker rooms after hours, scared of being found out. Point is, he’s pretty fucking wound up, and so when he’s given over six feet of muscle with a sweet puppy face and a smile bigger than the whole damn state...

He can’t help how he—what he thinks about. Sometimes. Late at night, in bed.

Because Buck—hoo boy, Buck is a piece of work. He bristled right up when they met. An angry puppy, chewing the shoes because the family brought home a new baby and he’s worried he won’t be as loved as before. But a few raps on the nose with a newspaper, and Buck did a run around. Now he follows at Eddie’s heels, tail wagging for all its worth, constantly begging with every bit of his body language, _notice me notice me notice me tell me I’m a good boy._

And Jesus fucking Christ if that doesn’t get to Eddie sometimes.

He knows, he just _knows,_ Buck would be so sweet and good for him. It radiates out of him from every pore, and sometimes Eddie just can’t—fucking _help_ himself. He feels guilty for even thinking about it as he wraps a hand around his cock, plays with himself, rubs right up against the underside of the head.

Has Buck been with a man? He doesn’t think so. Fuck. Eddie would coax him through it. Teach him what to do. _Relax for me, yeah, just like that._ He’d tease, and Buck would complain, but if he didn’t tease him then Buck might not be relaxed enough.

And Eddie would want him good and relaxed.

He keeps his strokes slow, always, when he does this, because he wants to savor it, just like he’d savor Buck. He’d stretch him out, get his hand slick as possible, massage around with the pads of his fingers until Buck was begging him to _just fucking do it already, Jesus,_ as if Buck was the one in charge here (Buck likes to pretend he’s in charge of things, it’s adorable).

And when he imagines sinking his fingers inside, his cock jerks in his hand. He’d have to curl his fingers, search around, find out _exactly_ how Buck likes to be fucked open. He’d scissor his fingers, get him stretched out, get Buck _begging..._

And oh, Buck would beg so pretty. He’d be impatient, Eddie knows it, and Eddie’s prepared to comfort him through it. Reassure him. It’s scary, the first time you get fucked. No matter how much you trust your partner, no matter how much you want this, there’s an instinctive response from your body that goes, _there’s no fuckin’ way this is gonna fit._ And Buck, for all his posturing, does get a lot more scared than he likes to admit.

Eddie arches up on the bed, hand moving faster, instinctive, a tight grip with a twist on the upstroke as he imagines—imagines finally sinking into Buck, stroking his sides gently, scattering kisses along the column of his neck. Buck’s got a bit of an oral fixation, Eddie’s noticed (not that it’s hard, Buck’s the opposite of subtle) and Eddie would bet money that Buck would go all soft and eager and pliant with some proper kissing.

He speeds up with purpose now, picturing sinking his cock inside, hearing Buck’s phantom panting in his ear, the way he’d say _please, c’mon Eddie, please_. He can’t, he won’t, he’s married, he’s _married,_ but he could, he knows he could if he said the right thing, looked at Buck the right way, he could get Buck into his bed and on his back or on all fours or riding him, writhing on him, he could get it so _easily..._

Eddie comes all over his fist, guilt and desire and the elation of orgasm mingling in his chest. He’ll never admit it, even if you put a loaded gun to his head, but he comes harder imagining fucking his best friend than he does imagining anything else.

(When Shannon comes back and he fucks her, actually fucks her, that still doesn’t beat the fantasy of Buck.)

* * *

Buck’s not stupid.

Okay he’s not _that_ stupid. He figured out somewhere in college, in between one frat party and another, that he liked a dick in his mouth as much as he liked eating out women. It just... took him a while to realize that’s what he felt about Eddie, why he got all itchy and tight on the inside when he first looked and saw this gorgeous man pulling a shirt up over his head.

He’s never liked a guy sober before. Or even been with one while sober.

What? Women are easier, okay?

But he’s not stupid and he can’t stop staring at Eddie and yeah he’s technically married but _“his mom’s not in the picture”_ and even if Eddie wasn’t married he’d still go slow. He’s learned the value of respect and taking his time. Abby... Abby broke his heart, but she also taught him so much. She made him into a better person, and he’s forever grateful to her for that.

So he’s gonna go slow, y’know? Who knows if Eddie’s even into men. And the man’s friendship? Getting to be in Christopher’s life? Fuck, that’s worth so much, Buck’s not going to push for more. That’s selfish.

It’s really hard, though—no pun intended—when Eddie just keeps being... like, holy shit. When Eddie gave him that slap on the wrist in the workout area, _what’s your problem, man?_ showed that casual dominance... Buck hasn’t been that turned on in years. Eddie’s so fucking confident. He owns who he is, the good and the ugly, and Buck admires him so fucking much for it.

The idea of all that confidence, that dominance, in the bedroom, used on _Buck..._

Yeah he hasn’t needed this much alone time in possibly ever.

He kneels on the edge of his bed, facing the mirror so he can watch what’s going on. He’s, uh, tried this a few times and he hasn’t really seen what’s so great about it? But he wants Eddie to fuck him. Oh, yeah, he wants to fuck Eddie, too, he wants Eddie riding him into the mattress, pinning his hands down, telling him _hold out just a little longer, I know you can be good for me, yeah, that’s it._

But goddamn, he also wants Eddie to fuck him.

He can’t imagine Eddie if he doesn’t have... a substitute. So he’s been trying to finger himself, and so far? He has no idea what these porn stars are moaning about. Like, it’s weird. It’s really weird. But he’s determined (to his own detriment, if you ask his sister) and so here he is kneeling on his bed, lubing his own fingers up, and hoping he doesn’t break something.

Or fall face-first off the bed, which is what happened last time.

Okay. Fingers slick. He’s relaxed, he’s breathing nice and deep, he can do this. He _wants_ to do this.

And it’s so easy to imagine Eddie here with him. His hands ghosting over Buck’s arms, his sides, feather-light touches. Calling him _greedy, naughty, bratty._ Saying that Buck’s all his, and he’s going to take his time.

Buck exhales as he sinks the first finger in. Eddie would be tactile, he just knows it, kissing up his neck, nipping at his ear. _Be good for me._

He adds a second finger, starts sliding them in and out. It burns a little with the stretch, but he kind of likes it. If it was Eddie’s fingers, he’d love it, because it would be _Eddie._ Eddie telling him that he’s good and that he can take it and Buck would because he’d do anything, absolutely anything, that Eddie asked of him.

 _Gonna fuck you so good._ He can see it in his mind’s eye, Eddie’s arm around him, anchoring him, the two of them in the mirror—Eddie’s tan skin and stubble against Buck’s paleness and smooth jaw, Eddie’s dark, soft, snapping eyes boring into Buck’s blue. Buck’s tattoos going purple and red from Eddie’s mouth as he kisses, bites, sucks. He wants to be marked by Eddie. If he lets his vision blur in the mirror, he can almost see it as Eddie’s hand disappearing between his legs.

He uses his other hand to stroke his cock, and _oh,_ yeah, okay, he likes that combination. Would Eddie let him do that? Or would he make Buck hold still, not let him touch?

God, if Eddie was even—even half as much in the bedroom as he was out of it, he was going to be the death of Buck. Even just imagining—

_ohJesusfuckingChristholy_

He nearly faceplants off the bed again, his whole body jolting, and a voice that sounds a lot like Eddie’s in his head says, _that, big boy, is the prostate._

Okay, now he gets what all the guys are moaning about.

He strokes his cock faster, pumps his fingers, trying to find that spot again. When he finds it his whole body lights up. Oh, fucking _fuck,_ he wants Eddie to fuck him like this, he wants it to be Eddie inside him, he wants, he wants, he—

Buck’s entire chest heaves, come all over his stomach, and he can’t feel his legs. Holy _shit._ If Eddie really does ever fuck him, he’s not going to last long. He’s going to come like a bottle rocket.

If.

Yeah, right. Eddie’s not ever going to have him. Why would he? Eddie’s _married,_ and even if he wasn’t, he’s probably straight, and even if he _isn’t,_ there are dozens of better men out there than Evan Buckley. Stupid, screw up, boring Evan Buckley.

Buck cleans himself up. It’s a nice fantasy. And he’s going to do it again, he knows it. Eddie drives him too damn crazy not to. But that’s all it’ll ever be, and he should be grateful to have Eddie’s friendship. He _is_ grateful. Eddie and Christopher are two of the best things that’ve ever happened to him and he couldn’t possibly love Christopher more if he was Buck’s own flesh and blood.

He’s just gotta focus on that.


End file.
